Regulus
by Megan Hogan
Summary: A short oneshot with an insight into someone we loved to hate Regulus Black.


The continued hissing of curses flying above his head, the thundering of many feet pursuing him and the ear splitting shrieks of deadly incantations blocking out the other sounds of the forest, the agonising pain as the branches tore at his, already bloody, face. It was enough to drive anyone mad with fear but Regulus Black was already mad. He was mad with guilt, mad with the madness that smothered all sense in most of the Black line at one time or another and mad with regret.

What was there not for him to regret? He had spent the best part of his life since leaving Hogwarts grovelling at the feet of Lord Voldemort's right hand men… never important enough to meet the man himself. He had thrown away his life; never concentrating at school, thinking there was something better waiting for him when he left, he had sucked up to the other Slytherins…that greasy Severus Snape, the awful, idiotic Montague and worst of all…Lucius Malfoy. All of these men were now chasing him, a deadly manhunt, headed by his own cousin. He could hear Bellatrix's manic laughter following him through the night. He had wasted his life and now, before he had even had a chance to live, he was going to die.

The blood pounded in his ears, his desperation took over and all sane thoughts left him in an instant. He ground to a sudden halt, tripping clumsily over nothing in particular as he stopped himself from going any further. He fumbled around in the pockets of his robes, praying they wouldn't find him for another minute or so. He caught hold of the delicate silver chain in his hand and felt the heavy weight of the pendant as he tugged it free of his robes. He gave it one final look of contempt before transfiguring it into a twig and stamping on it hard, grinding it into the ground and giving it the occasional blast with a reductor curse until finally only a fine residue, selling faintly of burning ashes, remained, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know it was there.

Having done this, he seated himself gently on the ground and, with his face in his hands, wept bitterly, wishing to God he had followed the example of his elder brother and not stayed to play around with the dark-arts. Sirius had had the right idea, oh yes; running away to that Potter boy's house had been the right thing to do. But then again, Sirius had always been popular, he, Regulus, on the other hand, didn't have any friends to run away to. He was left, stuck in the soul-destroying place that was his family home. "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black" he said to himself sourly.

He sat there, waiting as the sound of his pursuers grew nearer every second. He thought about his first, last and only act of redemption with a hint of pride.

He had known perfectly well, that as soon as he had begun to think over and feel guilty about the things he was been asked to do, the murders he was forced to commit, the vile acts of torture that he watched countless innocent people endure, that his life was drawing to an end. Without even being near him, The Dark Lord would know that one of his followers was becoming unsure his authority.

Knowing this, he had set out to do the thing that only he could. He had, quite inadvertently, discovered the secret Lord Voldemort's prolonged half-life. Stumbling across a dark-arts book one day, he had seen horcruxes mentioned and deduced that this was the only possibility. He set out to destroy them.

It was only a matter of months before he had found Slytherin's locket. It had been relatively simple once he knew what he was looking for. By some miracle, for he was not a particularly gifted wizard, he managed to break the spell surrounding it and replace it with a decoy. Only a scribbled note jammed inside it to identify him as the thief. R.A.B. That was how he had signed it. Regulus Abraxas Black.

And now it was gone… destroyed… a fragment of Tom Riddle's soul was no more. It was all he could do, and now he had done it, he could die, not having lived a totally pointless life.

Within moments, they had him surrounded; he did not struggle but just sat there, silently, which only infuriated the death-eaters all the more. Curse after curse was aimed at him. He could feel his bones twisting in ways that they could never have done naturally, he felt them break, he felt his face and body being mutilated by the sectumsempra curse and eventually, when he could take the excruciating pain of the unforgivable curses no more, he let out a single, piercing scream. Shattering the sudden silence that had fallen on the night. The death-eaters had stopped, no animal made a sound. All that could be heard was the horrifying sound of a man dying.


End file.
